Uncovering the heart means exposing the very core of the self. This is a scary move into unknown territory, even though it is a part of our inner selves that we are uncovering. The heart symbolizes feeling and intuition. Though we may be fearful, the true danger is in the death, not the exploration, of the heart.

Sometimes our hearts remember, better than our analytical minds, the times and places of our deepest felt experiences. During times of crisis or personal breakdown, the heart insists on revealing itself to us; we are forced to pay attention. These are times of deep personal pain that most of us would rather escape, because we fear that the load will be too much to bear -- that it may be possible to feel too much.

Just as it is possible to close our eyes and not see the world around us, we can also close our hearts. We do so at a great price: we may choose to live in a world of flat surfaces, a dry and angular world seemingly sterile until we look under the carpet. Many of us say we want to be loved, and I do not doubt the genuiness of that desire. However, many of us also dare not love outside the confines of the walls we and facades we erect out of fear. If that's not a prison, I don't know what is...

For many, love is but a word whispered... ultimately it's not intimacy we desire, but it's illussion.

The reality is this: to undress the heart is to reveal our inner history -- a history forgotten or hidden. We may be paying a price for relegating powerful forces to the shadow world for it is there they hold greater power over ourselves. One of the aims of depth psychotherapies is to help us rediscover our lost selves gradually and integrate them again into our whole personalities.

The language of the heart may seem illogical. But if  we listen to it -- really listen to it -- without losing our heads, we might just find hope in it that what lies ahead is a new and better way of living. It is in this aspect that there is strength in living with a naked heart.

However, there is that fearful vulnerability also. We take a chance when we open to others. We can be hurt. We may ask ourselves if we are risking too much.

I have found that in my own life, some of the most rewarding examples of creativity have been those moments when my heart was uncovered, when I was able to emerge and address those unique yet universal experiences that bind us together in the human condition.

I have learned that the uncovered heart contains both vulnerability and strength. Its strength perhaps lies precisely in that ability to open itself to itself, with an exquisite grace that invites the hearts of others to do so too.

If during the course of the day, no one tells you they love you, know this: I love you. I love you unconditionally for being the way you are right now -- this very moment -- and I will continue loving you in this way until you can love yourself in this very manner.

Hola Everybody,
Since I procrastinated so much in sending out evites, I decided it would probably be best to postpone the picnic for another day. I might change it to a "Comedy Club" night instead or something like that...

You have probably seen the following in some email or around the net. I always get positive responses when I post it, and I have used it countless times in my motivational speaking, as well as in my workshops -- when I run into the all-too-common hardened and cynical mindset popular in today's "me, me, me" culture. Still, I often have to wonder how many of us actually practice what we gush over...

The Starfish Story
adapted from The Star Thrower by Loren C. Eiseley (1907-1977)

 Once upon a time, there was a wise man who used to go to the ocean to do his writing. He had a habit of walking on the beach before he began his work.

One day, as he was walking along the shore, he looked down the beach and saw a human figure moving like a dancer. He smiled to himself at the thought of someone who would dance to the day, and so, he walked faster to catch up.

As he got closer, he noticed that the figure was that of a young man, and that what he was doing was not dancing at all. The young man was reaching down to the shore, picking up small objects, and throwing them into the ocean.

He came closer still and called out "Good morning! May I ask what it is that you are doing?"

The young man paused, looked up, and replied "Throwing starfish into the ocean."

"I must ask, then, why are you throwing starfish into the ocean?" asked the somewhat startled wise man.

To this, the young man replied, "The sun is up and the tide is going out. If I don't throw them in, they'll die."

Upon hearing this, the wise man commented, "But, young man, do you not realize that there are miles and miles of beach and there are starfish all along every mile? You can't possibly make a difference!"

At this, the young man bent down, picked up yet another starfish, and threw it into the ocean. As it met the water, he said, "It made a difference for that one."

***

This story has appeared all over the web in various forms, usually with no credit given to Mr. Eiseley. Sometimes it is a little girl throwing the starfish into the ocean, sometimes a young man, there's a version where  it's an elderly Indian. Whatever the version, it is a thought-provoking and beautiful story with a simple yet powerful message. It reminds me somewhat of my mother's "candy wrapper" speech.

Loren C. Eiseley was a anthropologist who wrote extensively. He was the "wise man" in the story, and he was walking along a beach after a storm and encountered the fellow throwing the starfish back. I have not had a chance to read the original book myself but will probably do so. It is said he was the Walt Whitman of the 20th century.

Here is the story with some background as to how it came to be written:

Loren Eisley, while writing his book, The Unexpected Universe, was walking along the ocean in Costabel early one morning. It was shortly after a storm had subsided and as he continued walking, he noticed that thousands of starfish had been washed up on the beach. Ahead of him was a gigantic rainbow of incredible perfection shimmering into existence. At the base of the rainbow stooped a little boy, gazing fixedly at an object in the sand. Eventually, he flung the object beyond the breaking surf.

Eisley went up to him and asked, “Son, what are you doing?” The little boy answered. “I’m throwing starfish back into the sea because if I don’t , they’re going to die.” “But there are thousands of starfish. In the larger scheme of things, you’re not going to make much of a difference to all these starfish..” The little boy looked up at him, stooped down again to pick up another starfish and, gently but quickly, flung it back into the ocean. “it’s going to make a big difference to that one!” he replied.

Eisley was embarrassed, uncomfortable with the contrast of the little boy’s youthful, innocent love for the living with his own hardened, mature indifference to death. He had nothing to say and left, continuing to walk down the beach but unable to get pictures of the little boy out of his mind. It was the moment of truth for Eisley, of deep soul searching and self confrontation. In time, he returned to the star thrower, silently picked up a starfish and spun it far into the waves. “I understand” he said. “Call me another thrower.”  Together, still under the hues of the rainbow, they spent hours throwing starfish back into the ocean. It was a task not assumed lightly, for it was man as well as starfish they sought to save, sensing intuitively that man cannot exist spiritually without life.

***

You make a difference whether you’re conscious of it or not. The issue is: what kind of difference will you make…

Gotta go! Off to prison to throw stars. May you all become star throwers and may you all know true happiness,

Eddie

Hola Everybody!
OK! It’s Friday... Thanks to everyone, as always, for the thoughtful responses
to yesterday's post. I don't ask that anyone agree with my opinions. I
do demand, however, that people make an effort to read before
commenting!

People who refuse to abide by this rule will be intellectually spanked and not in a nice way...

LMAO!

Now… for a word from our [un]Common Sense Blog sponsor…

[a hushed voice intones over dissonant strings in the background as a camera pans over important looking documents…]

On June 16, 2004, The 9/11 Commission reported that it found "no collaborative relationship" between Iraq and Al Qaeda.

Even so, as of September 2004, 42% of Americans still believed that Saddam Hussein's regime in Iraq was directly involved in planning, financing, or carrying out the terrorist attacks of 9/11.

[music changes to rowdy Heavy Metal… as a mob of people body slam each other in their rush to buy Christmas gifts in September… ]

 

***

As we all know, bloggers just love to post quizzes, surveys, challenges, etc., etc., etc. Whether we do this because they are actually fun or because we get brain freezes that obstruct our writing abilities [cough], hasn’t been decided.

But just to show that I can be part of the herd once in a while (even if only to sexually prey on the female portion of the comatose 42% noted above), I’m going to add my own little quiz! In reality I adapted (read: stole) it (scanned) from a completely off-the-chain, totally incorrect, "in-yo-face-muthafucka" book titled, “ego trip’s Big Book of Racism!” These folks are too fuckin’ much! Highly recommended!

Answers? MONDAY dammit!

“…It’s been test proven that tests don’t always play fair. Bigotry is a popular pastime. And it still is. Now for the first time ever comes an opportunity to level the cultural playing field once and for all, and ponder the intriguing question: What do you get when you put Joe Clark, Mr. Hand (R.I.P.), and Jaime Escalante in a room together? (Answer: Three esés the hard way – even harder than Chinese ‘rithmetic.)”

 1.      Are you a racist?

A.     Yes

B.     Probably

C.     Definitely

D.     All of the above

 2.      You ain’t Black. When you see a Black person, you:

A.     Feel guilty

B.     Smile… nervously

C.     Say, “Slap me some skin on the Black hand side, baby-baby.”

D.     Run

3.      You a Honky. When you see a person of another ethnicity, you:

A.     Get crazy horny (You one horny Honky.)

B.     Expect to lose your job… soon

C.     Inform him, in an extremely polite tone, that deliveries are at the back entrance only, José.

D.     Run.

 4.      Finish this sentence: The Blacker the berry…

A.     … the sweeter the Jews.”

B.     … the more rotten that shit is. Throw it away.”

C.     … the darker the daddy.”

D.     … the better the chance it’s Wesley Snipes at an after hours wine-tasting with his ganjah-smoking mellow, Woody Harrelson. (light anotha).”

 5.      You can always tell a Latino/a family by:

A.     Counting the chickens

B.     The decibel levels

C.     Trying this simple trick: Yell, “Migra!” and if they run, they Hispanic.

D.     The red furniture

 6.      The development of science has allowed a great many advantages in our dail y lives. These improvements are moving at an accelerated rate. However, as far as you know, Orientals talk “funny” because:

A.     Godzilla got them hella shook.

B.     Their tongues are slanted too. (Ay ya! That’s racist.)

C.     Too much MSG. (Mangled Speech Gene.)

D.     They hate your ignorant ass and are doing it to fuck with you (better known as “ancient Chinese secret”).

 7.      The phrase “Peace in the Middle East” is poignant because:

A.     They sure do kill a lot of muthafuckas out there.

B.     It rhymes

C.     “Blessed in the Midwest” don’t sound right.

D.     It will never happen.

 8.      A Caucasian male leaves for work at 7:00 on Monday morning. He lives on the west side of town, about ten miles away from his destination. He arrives at his office at 8:00 AM. On the other side of town, a person of color also leaves home at 7:00 am. He or she arrives:

A.     Late

B.     After a quick stop at the boodah spot, right on THC-CP Time.

C.     Wednesday

D.     At the unemployment line.

 9.      A cracker is:

A.     A delicious, flaky, sometimes buttery, waferesque morsel.

B.     One of them Rice Crispies niggaz.

C.     Not to be confused with the monster from Clash of the titans. D.     You, you dumb-ass cracker!

10.  “BMW” stands for:

A.     Black Man’s Wish.

B.     Better Move, Whitey.

C.     Bitch Made Whiteboy

D.     Bought My Wife, too.

11.  Who would you vote off the island first?

A.     Clint Black. (He’s White)

B.     Barry White (He’s Black)

C.     Rita Moreno (she’s Boricua)

D.     Tattoo

 12.  Saddam Huseein looks like:

A.     He’s so dam insane. (Get it? Good)

B.     The President of the swarthy Gentlemen’s Club… for Men

C.     He’s quick to get in that ass

D.     A really hammered Mexican with a muy gignate tortilla chip on his shoulder.

 13.  Before Septmeber 11, 2001, you thought Osama bin Laden was:

A.     Sir Alec Guiness’ character in Star Wars. B.     The $6.95 lunch special at your local Curry Hut.

C.     The scientific term in Arabic for lopsided desert-donkey testicles.

D.     Just another towelhead.

 14.  Who picks up white trash?

A.     Welfare

B.     Riki Lake’s limosine service.

C.     Vicodin

D.     Black thugz

E.      Lizzie Grubman.

 15.  At which of the following places are Hispano holy rollers most likely to sight visions of Jesus and Mary?

A.     A Jesus and Mary Chain album cover.

B.     The local bodega, because Jesus (pronounced hay-zoos) and Maria run it.

C.     The cotton candy at Shea Stadium.

D.     At the border.

 16.  From where does the Chinese Dragon Lady learn her powers of seduction?

A.     Vietnamese Hooker Academy.

B.     Japanese Geisha Finishing School.

C.     www.manilamail-orderbrides.com

D.     Some Korean slut.

 17.  Since they were actually separated at birth, the only real difference between African-Americans and Italian-Americans is:

A.     The suits. The Crips were FUBU. The wops were Armani. (But the burgers are Ronald’s.)

B.     The sauce. BBQ drives Blacks bananas. Marinara makes the paisans go Buttafucco for Coco Puffs.

C.     The sex. The monkeys can swing all-nighters. The goom-bahs go for the gold medallion.

D.     The slammer. C’mon, y’all saw The Green Mile and Goodfellas.

18.  Dr. Angelo Saxon, PhD, a wealthy Caucasian male (of course), walks into his well-mannered boudoir one fine Wednesday evening. To his dismay, he encounters his blondish nymphet wife, Mandy, in their king-sized Ethan Allen waterbed with…

A.     Ferdinand, their uninhbited, untamable, and undocumented landscape artiste, who’s feeding her chalupas and beating her Chihuahua senseless. ¡Amore es Perros!

B.     Carmine, their in-house Haitian culinary sensation, taste-testing her French dip with his rotund rolling pin in hand. Oui, he’ll rock you, Amadaeus!

C.     Lateisha, the saucy and sassy Filipina nanny, ankles-to-panties, spanking that fanny. Word to Manny (the chauffeur).

D.     Manny, who’s been hitting off Lateisha – and Angelo – on the low. (He’s bisexual, you know.)

19.  On some Jimmy Stewart shit, a despondent Dr. Saxon races his silver Jaguar XJE to Old Miller’s Bridge, the local suicide jump-off. Before taking the Nestea plunge, and leaving no doubt in anyone’s mind that he’s softer than wet Charmin, he yells…

A.     “Wetbacks!”

B.     “Blackmale!”

C.     “Nia Peeples!”

D.     “Whitewater!”

 20.  Are tan lines racist?

A.     Yes, because they perpetuate Carnal Sander’s friend chicken theory: The white meat’s the best (and it’s finger-lickin’ good).

B.     No, just rednecks.

C.     Maybe. George Hamilton ain’t worked steadily in years.

D.     ¡Suntanama!

 21.  Why do African-Americans love to dance?

A.     Cuz they freaks

B.     They’re slaves to the rhythym. (Ta-dow! That’s really racist.)

C.     They want to practice what they will eventually do on your grave, honky.

D.     The devil made them do it.

 22.  It’s the annual Puerto Rican Day parade. Boricuas from all across this great nation will descend upon the Manzana grande to commemorate:

A.     ass.

B.     Ass.

C.     ASS!

D.     AZZ! Boo-yow!

 23.  Which of the following is not controlled by the Jews?

A.     Hebrew National.

B.     Beanie Sigel.

C.     Judo. (Not to be confused with “jew-dough.” They got that on lock.)

D.     Palestine.

 24.  Can’t we all just get along?

A.     No.

B.     Absolutely not

C.     I don’t think so.

D.     No espeka Englis.

 25.  Ignorance is:

A.     Bliss.

B.     A Cancer.

C.     Everywhere.

D.     ego trip’s Big Book of Racism!

"... his big dog will fight/ When you rattle his cage/ And you'll be sorry that you messed with/ The U.S. of A/ 'Cause we'll put a boot in your ass/ It's the American way... " 
-- A hick named Toby Keith

• At the start of the 20th century, 10%-15% of war casualties were civilians.
• During World War II, more than 50% of war casualtiers were civilians.
• By the end of the 20th century, over 75% of war casualties were civilians.

When I look into the eyes of this child, I wonder what he was doing on September 11, 2001. Was he even born then? Who is/ was  he? What was his name? I look into his dead eyes and I feel shame and I wonder if we really do think there is any time where his death, or the deaths of children like him, is ever actually justified. I wonder about people who believe this...

... and I have to sneer derisively at the image of some flag-waving yahoo talking about America kicking ass...

... because, more likely than not, it's this child's ass we kicked. It's this child's ass, and tens of thousands like him, we kicked... I wonder about such people... and I feel ashamed because in some way, I've had something to do with that child's destruction -- we all do...

Those of you who read this blog already know I live right by what is now called "Ground Zero." My building shook when the towers fell...
I walked the streets in that aftermath, covered with white powder -- we all did...

Quietly...

Some were injured, others were in shock, some were crying…

I watched from my roof in horror when I realized that what I thought was debris, was actually people choosing to take thier lives by jumping off the Towers...

We all lost someone that day, there isn't a New Yorker that wasn't somehow connected by six degrees to the loss of that day. I too breathed in the fumes and developed what eventually became known as the "Downtown Cough."

I had to walk daily through police barricades and checkpoints for months after just to get home and I did it because I didn't want those who are twisted enough to destroy in the name of ideology to win. If I ran in fear, then they would win... so I stayed there in my apartment despite the urging of friends and loved ones to stay somewhere "safe"... It was my own little act of defiance.

I smelled the "smell" everyday... the smell no one wanted to talk about: the smell of burning flesh mixed in with only God knows what was emanating from the toxic pile where once stood the Towers. It burned for months... and we know now that the whole area should've been closed off...

I facillitated quite a few groups in the aftermath of 9/11 and I heard a lot of anger, much grief, shock, and disbelief. But I also saw people coming together in heroic ways in that most crucial defining moment in our history...

Stores opened their doors and put out tables with free water

Strangers took to helping those who were injured... consoling one another...

People embraced one another...

Strangers took strangers into their homes if they were displaced... 

... and on and on -- the stories of that day are now forgotten as politicians basked in the limelight of news cameras. Time voted a person as "Man of the year" -- but the real people of the year were the people of New York City...

I hoped that the more noble aspects of human nature, as exemplified by my fellow New Yorkers, would hold the day, but time has shown differently.

I despaired that the actions of my fellow New Yorkers would be buried in an avalanche of the bullshit jingoism passing off as patriotism that would surely follow. I despaired that our leaders would exploit this to deepen the culture of fear and hate.

I heard many people express outrage -- wanting to punish those who were responsible... but more often than not, I heard people expressing my own fears that politicians and the powers that be would exploit the tragic events of 9/11 as a pretext for thier own, not so noble, agendas. All this immediately in the aftermath of 9/11.

In the days that followed 9/11, the NY Times would publish snap bios of every person who perished in the Towers. It was a way to insert a humanity behind the tragedy, a way to discard the anonymity. My people, my fellow New Yorkers who died in the Towers, were just regular people who had lives, dreams, hopes.

But what about this child?  Look into his eyes... is he alive? Dead? Did he have hopes? Or did he, like many other children, just cared about playing with his friends, getting birthday presents, eating his favorite sweets...

"War is fear cloaked in courage."
 -- Gen. William Westmoreland

Many, in their rush to wave their flag and puff themselves up into a patritotic fervor, wouldn't give two shits about this child. Many, in the comfort of thier suburban enclaves, would say that such is life, that if that child's death means we save 100 of ours, then that child's death is justified and -- shit -- let's nuke the whole lot of them - fuck the towel heads.

The irony is that the people who flew those airplanes into the Towers that bright, sunny, beautiful New York City day, felt the same way... fundamentalism, fervor, and rabid ideology of any kind leads to destruction, in whatever flag you want to dress it up...

I'm here today to give testimony to that day -- that on September 11th, 2001, we New Yorkers were a power of example of what humans, driven by compassion and courage, can accomplish. I'm here to say that knee-jerk, "Yeehaw!" type false patriotism desecrates the memory of that day... I'm here to bear witness that waving a flag and talking about kicking ass was not what we were doing in those tragic days...  we were reaching out to one another, tending, healing...

I'm here to hopefully bear witness that this child was human too...  he was a boy, he lived, he had dreams, and he laughed...  and perhaps he died needlessly because we failed to hold our leaders accountable and allowed them to go to war under false pretexts in the name of fear and hate... all the while waving flags and talking bullshit about kicking ass... well we kicked this child's ass, didn't we? We really showed him, and 1000s of others like him, didn't we!

Well, I'm here to say that you can do this, but don't do it in my name... don't do it the name of 9/11... because it's disgraceful and shameless...

Not in my name...

"Liberty and democracy become unholy when their hands are dyed red with innocent blood."
  -- Mahatma Gandhi

I have to admit some uncomfortability in submiting today’s post. My uncomfortability comes from writing on a topic that affects mostly women and, as a man, I feel an awkwardness. However, codependency does not affect women only – there are many men addicted to relationships. In addition, cultural shifts in recent decades have seen a corresponding shift in the way men and women fall into dysfunctional relationship patterns.

If I were to attempt to reduce gender roles to two specific questions (always a dangerous thing). I would say that the essential questions for men are “Do I fuck it, or do I eat it (or does it eat me),” while the essential question for women is “How do I relate to it.” It is this essential approach to life that, in my opinion, is at the root of women's susceptibility toward codependency.

Codependence and voidance of pain go hand-in-hand because codependency is an addictive behavior that attempts to do just that: avoid pain. In the process of avoiding pain, what generally happens is that a lot of suffering ensues. I believe that there are forms of attachment that we confuse for love. The psychotherapist, Robin Norwood calls it “loving too much,” but I can’t call this form of attachment love, because it’s not about love, but mostly about fear amd clinging to sufferring.

If being in love for you means being in pain, then you are not in love, you’re codependent. When most of our conversations with friends are about our significant others, their problems, thoughts, and feelings… and nearly all our sentences begin with “S/he… ,” we are not in love, we’re codependent.

When we find excuses for his moodiness, bad temper, cruel sarcasm, and attempt to become his therapist, we are not in love. If we read a self-help book and highlight all the passages we feel would help him, we are not in love, we’re codependent.

If we find ourselves not liking his basic characteristics, values, and behaviors, but we put up with it thinking that if we make ourselves more attractive and loving enough he’ll change for us, we’re not in love, we’re co-dependent.

When we allow our relationship to jeopardize our physical and emotional health, and perhaps even our safety, we are definitely not in love.

In spite of all the pain and dissatisfaction, codependency is such a common experience for many people that we begin to believe that it is the way that intimate relationships should be. Most of us have excused codependency at least once and for many, it has been a recurrent theme in our lives.

Addiction is a frightening word that illicits images like the heroin addict sticking a needle in his arm, leading a path to certain self-destruction. Most of us don’t like the word and will resist any attempt at applying the word to the way we relate to our significant others. But too many of us have been “man/ women junkies” and before we can free ourselves, like in addiction, the first step is to admit the problem before we can begin to recover from it.

If you ever have found yourself obsessed with a man/ woman, you may know intuitively that the foundation for that obsession is not love but fear. We who love obsessively are full of fear – the fear of being alone, the fear of being unworthy or unlovable, the fear of being ignored, abandoned, or destroyed. We give our love because it is a desperate hope that the person with whom we’re obsessed with will take care of our fears. What happens instead is that our fears – and our obsessions – become even stronger until giving love to get love back becomes the driving force in our lives. And because this strategy will never work, we try – we love – even harder.

The cycle continues…

The concept of co-dependency has its roots in the treatment of addicts and is understood as a set of thoughts, feelings, and behaviors. An interesting finding on preliminary research conducted in this area is that while not all codependent persons grew up in troubled families, their partners nearly always came from severely troubled families in which they had experienced greater than normal trauma/ stress and pain. By struggling to cope with their addictive mates, these partners were unconsciously recreating and reliving aspects of their childhood.

I think it’s worthwhile repeating my initial statement here: I don’t mean to imply that codependency is a “female” phenomenon, but due to the interplay of social conditioning and biological factors, men generally try to find external ways to avoid their pain. We try to protect ourselves through external ways: work, sports, drugs, hobbies, sex, etc. While for women, because of cultural forces working on them, tend to become obsessed with relationships – often with a damaged and distant man. These cultural forces have shifted somewhat, so you will find more men relationally addicted and more women seeking external means of avoidance.

Below I have listed characteristics of a person who is in the process of recovering from codependency (adapted from Robin Norwood):

1. S/he accepts herself fully, even while wanting to change parts of him/ herself. There is a basic self-love and self-regard, which s/he carefully nurtures and purposely expands.
2. S/he accepts others as they are without trying to change them to meet her needs.
3. S/he is in touch with her feelings and attitudes about every aspect of her life, including her sexuality.
4. S/he cherishes s every aspect of herself: her personality, her appearance, her beliefs and values, her body, her interests and accomplishments. S/he validates him/ herself, rather than searching for a relationship to give him/ her a sense of self-worth.
5. Her/ his self-esteem is great enough that s/he can enjoy being with others, especially members of the opposite sex, who are fine just as they are. S/he does not need to be needed in order to feel worthy.
6. 6. S/he allows herself to be open and trusting with appropriate people. S/he is not afraid to be known at a deeply personal level, but s/he also does not expose herself to the exploitation of those who are not interested in his/ her well-being.
7. S/he questions, “Is this relationship good for me? Does it enable me to grow into all I am capable of being?”
8. When a relationship is destructive, s/he is able to let go of it without experiencing disabling depression. S/he has a circle of supportive (not “enabling”) friends and healthy interests to see him/ her through crises.
9. S/he values her own serenity above all else. All the struggles, drama, chaos of the past have lost their appeal. S/he is protective of him/ herself, his/ her health, and well-being.
10. S/he knows that a relationship, in order to work, must be between partners who share similar values, interests, and goals, and who each have a capacity for intimacy. S/he also knows that s/he is worthy of the best that life has to offer.

I write the above as a person in recovery, who knows exactly how we fall into these relationship patterns because it has been part of my own history. So I write this from a foundation of my own experience and my research. I put it out here for you, the reader, to use or not use – it’s up to you.


Besos,

Eddie

This is the doctrine at the heart Buddhism. You see, my dear reader, it goes this way: you are a ramshackle collection of coincidences held together by a desperate and irrational clinging. There is no center – no center at all. Everything depends on everything else, your body depends on the ecology, your thoughts depend on whatever conditioned flotsam floats in from the media, your emotions are mostly from the reptilian end of your DNA.

Your intellect, dear reader, is chemical computer that can’t add up a zillionth as fast as a pocket calculator. Even your best side is a superficial piece of social conditioning that will fall apart as soon as your spouse leaves with the kids and the money in the joint account, or the economy fails and you get the sack, or you get conscripted into some village idiot’s war, or they give you the news about your brain tumor, or you realize you're consigned to live in Armpit, USA. To name this amalgam of self-pity, vanity, and despair self is not only the height of conceit, it is also proof that we’re truly a deluded species.

We are in a trance from birth to death. Bust the balloon and what are you left with? We are left with what we most fear, but what is truest...

Emptiness…

It’s not only us – this radical doctrine applies to the whole sentient world. Dependent origination is not exactly everyone’s cup of tea, I admit. Nevertheless, it does have a compelling point: stop for two steps... still yourself... listen – in other words, meditate just a little – and you will find yourself on a planet you no longer recognize. Those needs and fears you thought were the very foundation of your existence turn out to be no more than bugs in your software…

Smooches,

Eddie